Chimichanga mysteries: The origin of Tucson's deep-fried masterpiece is an enigma wrapped in a tortilla - Recipe

Sunset, Oct, 1999 by Nora Burba Trulsson

Once upon a time, somewhere in the Southwest, a clever cook dropped a burro into a deep-fat fryer, and the chimichanga, the savory staple of Arizona's Mexican restaurants, was born.

Just where and when this gastronomic event took place is the subject of much discussion among Tucsonans, who count the "chimi" as their own signature dish. Some claim to know the exact moment of creation, while others theorize that the crispy, golden brown delicacy evolved over the decades.

George Jacob, owner of Club 21 restaurant in Tucson, is a strict creationist. Not long after he opened his restaurant in 1946, he recalls serving an Easterner a plain burro - the meat-wrapped-in-flour-tortilla assemblage that's usually dubbed a burrito outside Arizona. The customer thought the burro looked raw. "I put some shortening on it and browned it on the grill," says Jacob, whose restaurant is still in its original location. "It looked pretty good, so we put it on the menu as a fried burro."

A few years later, a Mexican-born customer ordered a fried burro and called it que chango, which roughly translates to bow whimsical. By 1954, Jacob's fried burro had morphed into chimichanga and earned a regular spot on his menu.

THE BIRTH OF A THINGAMAJIG

But does this make Jacob the chimichanga's founding father? Not according to Carlotta Flores, owner of Tucson's El Charro Cafe. Family legend says Flores's great-aunt, Monica Flin, who started the restaurant in 1922, cussed in the kitchen when a burro flipped into the deep fryer. As she was knee-deep in a gaggle of nieces and nephews, she changed the swear word to chimichanga - the Spanish equivalent of thingamajig.

Today Flores serves some 10,000 chimichangas a week at her two restaurant locations. She has expanded the chimichanga section of her menu to include both a vegetarian version and a USA Today version (rolled and fried, it's the size of the newspaper, folded). A while back, Flores switched the frying medium from the traditional lard to canola oil. About the same time, trying to be helpful, she printed a calorie count next to each chimi on the menu (starting at about 1,200 for a plain beef chimichanga). "Let's just say my customers didn't appreciate it," she says.

Frank Davis Jr., a third-generation Tucson restaurateur whose family started La Fuente in 1960, theorizes that geography influenced the development of the chimichanga. "I think it got started along the border, in Sonora, Mexico," he says. "Sonora is a wheat capital of Mexico, and that's where they first started making the large, 16- to 18-inch flour tortillas that we use for chimichangas."

At La Fuente, customers order chimis with a variety of beef or chicken fillings, and get them either plain, enchilada-style (smothered in sauce, topped with melted cheese), or with sides of guacamole and sour cream.

Jim Griffith, a folklorist at the University of Arizona's Southwest Center, agrees with Davis on the chimi's Sonoran origins. "It probably developed somewhere in southern Arizona or northern Sonora where not only wheat but beef is grown," says Griffith. His first encounter with a chimichanga was during a mid-1950s Easter celebration at a Yaqui Indian village on the outskirts of Tucson. "I'm guessing, though, that they were around long before then," he says.

Whatever the place and year of its birth, the chimichanga has spread in popularity - you're almost as likely to find it on menus in Seattle as in Tucson. And as with any other ubiquitous dish, it has acquired permutations, including minichimis - smaller versions great as appetizers - and dessert chimichangas, filled with chocolate or fruit.

There is only one thing about chimichangas that everyone seems to agree upon. They are muy addicting.

These chimichanga recipes come from Carlotta Flores's cookbook, El Charro Cafe. The Tastes and Traditions of Tucson (Fisher Books, Tucson, 1998; $24.95; 520/744-6110).

Chimichangas El Charro

PREP AND COOK TIME: About 40 minutes, plus preparation of filling

NOTES: At El Charro Cafe, Carlotta Flores makes chimichangas with the overgrown, 16- or 18-inch flour tortillas renowned in the Sonoran region. But 12- to 14-inch tortillas (the fresher, the more flexible) make impressive chimis too - even 10-inchers will do - and they're easier to deep-fry at home. As a crisp alternative to frying, place rolled chimis in an oiled 10- by 15-inch pan and brush lightly with salad oil. Bake on the lowest rack in a 400 [degrees] oven until golden, about 35 minutes. If desired, sprinkle with cheese and bake until cheese is melted, about 5 minutes longer.

Chimichangas can be filled with a variety of meats and vegetables; here are two of Flores's favorites. Fruit salsa is especially good with the pork filling.

MAKES: 6 servings

6 flour tortillas (12 to 14 in.)

Filling (choices follow)

About 1 1/2 quarts salad oil

2 firm-ripe avocados (about 1/2 lb. each)

2 tablespoons lime juice

1 can (16 oz.) red chili or enchilada sauce

3 cups shredded lettuce (iceberg and/or romaine) and/or red cabbage